


delubyo

by placidings



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, M/M, martial law au, yeah uh hey my fingers slipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placidings/pseuds/placidings
Summary: Crisostomo had to say it. He would never have the chance again, for if he waited until the sun rose and he had to look into Elias's eyes as he did so, watching him leave right after would break him.The calm before the storm of January '70.





	delubyo

_**4:08 AM** _   
_**January 30, 1970** _   


Rains in January come intermittently, what with the tail end of the cold season slowly seeping into the air to come down as summer heat. Crisostomo had been awakened by a thunderstorm—a crackle of lightning followed by a resounding boom of thunder that sounded as though it was right outside his apartment window. He had sat upright, unmoving until the last rumble faded into nothing, then felt around; Elias was still beside him. It was a miracle, as far as miracles go nowadays, that he had slept through the entire thing—he was a light sleeper, easily awakened by the quietest footsteps or the most subtle of door creaks. Crisostomo had paused for a moment, gazed upon his sleeping face and his bare chest rising and falling in steady breaths, brushed a stray lock of hair from his face, and then pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead.

Then, as quietly as he could, he slipped out from under the covers. He padded around the carpeted floor, toes brushing against hastily-discarded jeans until he stepped on the soft fabric of Elias's undershirt. Crisostomo picked it up and slipped it over his head; the neck too wide, sleeves too long, hem falling just past his hips, something he secretly loved indulging in. On normal circumstances, he would deny it—Elias would never let him hear the end of it. This early morning, however, wasn't just a normal morning, for when the sun rises and Elias leaves his apartment, it may well be the last time he would ever see him alive and well. The next time could be behind prison bars, in a hospital on a bed, or in a morgue. Crisostomo swallowed. He thought he had made his peace with it, but who, in their right mind, would rest easy with the thought of their loved ones charging into a battle that does not promise a return, murdered by the same hand that had sworn to protect them? 

Crisostomo took a deep breath, letting Elias's scent flood his senses. Light flashes, illuminating the dreary room for a split second. Crisostomo doesn't flinch. 

"Cris?"

He closed his eyes. Elias's voice was always pleasantly raspy in the mornings, rough around the edges with the last vestiges of drowsiness. Words rolled heavy off his tongue, sending spikes of fondness and longing and the briefest hint of want up his spine; a wad of fear lodged itself in his throat soon after. 

" _Maha_ l. Come back to bed, _sige na_."

_Mahal_. He rarely ever used the damn word, it was a trump card intended to pacify Crisostomo, and in this case; it was an indicator that he knew what had been keeping him up, why he was standing motionless three feet away from him, staring at the drawn curtains. _Mahal_ had never felt so heavy like it was a name, a burden he had to carry; a curse and a blessing, a fleeting spark that was easily snuffed out. The room was dark, Elias wouldn't be able to see the tears welling up in his eyes. Even then, Crisostomo blinked them away, clenched his jaw in resignation, and slipped back into bed. Elias wrapped his arms around his waist immediately and tucked his head under his chin. Absently, Crisostomo began to comb through his long hair; the tense muscles in Elias's arms began to loosen, he pulled him in so close that Crisostomo felt his eyelashes brushing against his neck as he pressed gentle, sleepy kisses down his throat. Elias's breath was warm on his skin, the vaguest semblance of comfort and peace seeped through his bones; he could feel his pulse thrumming in time with his own. Crisostomo was wide awake. Elias was slipping back into unconsciousness.

Crisostomo had to say it. He would never have the chance again, for if he waited until the sun rose and he had to look into Elias's eyes as he did so, watching him leave right after would break him. It would fill him with a selfish kind of anger, a misguided rage at the society they were born in: it took the brave, it took those who made a stand, it took everyone he loved away from him; he wanted to destroy it for that very reason, the notion of setting things right would come only second to avenging what he had lost. It is shameful, indeed, that he never saw the world the way Elias did, and that there was always a divide between them because of it—he could never keep Elias, not during these times. As much as he wanted to, he would never let himself do it.

" _Mahal kita_."

The storm raged on outside, pounding at the windows, a maelstrom that seemed only fitting for the events to come. The air between them stilled. Crisostomo felt Elias sigh.

" _Alam ko_ ," Elias said. He kissed Crisostomo's chin in lieu of an apology. " _Pero alam mong hindi mo ako mapipigilan_ —"

Crisostomo gritted his teeth. "Elias. _Mahal na mahal kita_. I'm not saying this because I want you to stay. _Hindi ko sasabihing umuwi ka_ , I'm not going to make you promise to come home to me, that isn't a burden I want to put on your shoulders, and I know you would willingly die for this cause, for this country. _Gusto ko lang malaman mo na mahal kita, ayokong umalis ka nang hindi mo naririnig galing sa 'kin_."

A beat of silence passed between them. He knew Elias understood what he was trying to say; that they might never get to say it again, that he might be saying goodbye, that he knew full well that Elias always, _always_ stood on the frontlines, that this protest will not end peacefully, that there will be blood spilling onto the concrete, bodies in side streets, that Elias might be one of those who will fall.

Finally, Elias released a deep breath. " _Mahal na mahal kita_."

Crisostomo closed his eyes.

In the morning, he would wake with an empty bed—Elias would be gone for who-knows-how-long; a drop of rain in the storm that was about to descend on them all.

**Author's Note:**

> The January 30 Insurrection was a protest held by students and student leaders following the violent dispersal of protesters on January 26th. As it turns out, the 26th was just a taste of what was to come--this protest ended more violently, a war that raged on until the morning of the 31st in the streets of Mendiola.
> 
> It is only one date in a series of movements collectively known as the First Quarter Storm; which took place at the height of civic unrest during the Marcos administration.
> 
> A firsthand account written by activist/journalist Pete Lacaba can be read [here](https://fqslibrary.wordpress.com/2010/01/29/the-january-30-insurrection/).
> 
> #NeverForget, especially since this government is a massive shitshow at the moment.
> 
> [twitter.](https://twitter.com/Iakambini)


End file.
